


We Were Friends First

by Junigatsu84



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1970s, Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hawkins - Freeform, High School Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Slice of Life, Stolen Moments, Vietnam War, War, the years between high school and 1982
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 03:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18984319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junigatsu84/pseuds/Junigatsu84
Summary: Life took Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers in separate directions after high school and, yet, it always brought them back together.  This fic is filled with small moments of regret, of wishing things were different, of missed chances over the years but also of gratitude for they friendship that laid underneath it all.





	We Were Friends First

Joyce,

I don’t know if you remember this any of this… It was so long ago.

We were outside at the edge of the playground. I don’t think it was during recess, it felt too long. But time goes so much slower when you’re a kid so, who knows? Well, anyway, we had seen something flailing in the woods. There was a group of us looking, trying to figure out what was wrong with the poor beast, but you were the only one to step forward. Someone told you not to get too close but you didn’t listen. And I followed after you because I wanted everyone to think I was just as brave. 

You had crouched down and, from over your shoulder, I could see it. It was a raven. It had gotten itself ensnared in some kind of twine or maybe wire. You announced to everyone what it was. 

Someone said they carried diseases. Johnny H. said it probably had rabies and would go for your eyes. I thought I heard someone whisper something about ravens being witches in disguise. But that might have been after. I don’t remember anymore. 

You were trying so hard to get the twine off, but the bird wouldn’t let you touch her. You were pleading with the thing to stay still, to trust you. You were so upset that I ignored the fact that it could be diseased or that it might try to blind me. 

“Let me try something.” I said. I unbuttoned my shirt and dropped it on top of the bird. The bird was still, stunned for a moment. I scooped it up and held it. I could feel it struggling under me and I was terrified of letting go. 

Being in my undershirt was embarrassing but the way you lit up and said, “It worked!” is still among my proudest moments as a kid.

I was still nervous at the prospect of holding a diseased, vicious, and possibly bewitched creature in my hands, so I scolded at you. “Would you hurry up and get the thing off?”

You worked quickly but, you were so delicate, which was surprised me. You had always been the tomboy. You ran around after boys when they teased you, pinning them down until they said uncle. Your older brother called you “little brute” and your hair was rarely combed, except on picture day.

But you gently lifted the shirt off its eyes. You were soothing and talking to it so sweetly. I don’t think the bird even noticed you were removing the twine. I certainly didn’t. I liked hearing your voice like that. I liked that I was the only one helping you. I felt important. Before I knew it, you had untangled the twine. You pet its head. I thought it was going to bite you but it must have known. 

“You can let her go now.” 

And then, you could see me for the coward I was. I couldn’t let her go. She might have liked you but I was her captor. She would surely bite and claw me. You saw that I was scared and stepped behind me. 

“She just wants to fly away from us. She won’t hurt you.” You put your hands on mine and slowly helped me let go and then, just as you said, she immediately took flight. 

I felt stupid for being afraid. But you were still close and you were glowing with pride at what you- we- had done. 

You were practically skipping out of the woods. Everyone was looking at us in awe and my chest puffed out a little. I may have been afraid but I had actually gone in. I may never be as brave as you, but I was close. 

I know that was the year they started calling you a witch. Between saving a raven and the time in journal writing, when you talked about dreaming of a ghost, I get why they did. Kids can be pretty rotten. I hope it didn’t ruin that memory for you. What did you ever do with that shirt? I can recall giving it to you, because nothing on God’s green earth would have gotten me to wear it again. And I remember you calling it the “bird shirt.” But I don’t remember if you ever wore it. 

This is the stupid shit you start thinking about when you’re laid up in a hospital bed. Don’t worry. All limbs are intact and somehow my mug has survived. It’s part of the reason I’m getting to your letter so late. That and the fact that mail delivery in warzones isn’t known for its punctuality. I’m sorry if I worried you. I probably should have written that first. “Hi, I got your letter and yes I’m fine.” We can chalk it up to the meds, right? I’m on a bunch of them right now. So forgive me if I sound like a loon. I’m just happy my writing is somewhat legible.   
__________

At this point, Jim Hopper’s pen stopped and hovered. There was so much more he wanted to say. He missed her. He was sorry he ever signed up to join this God-forsaken war. He wished he’d stayed and spent more mornings waking up next to her. He wished he could hold her in his arms one more time. He loved her. Was she with someone now? Would she write back to him again?

That thought brought his pen to start scratching again. Keep it light, he thought. He didn’t want to scare her off. There was nothing he wanted more than for her to write him again. 

He continued:

“So, the country bumpkin has turned into a city slicker? I can tell by the address you have moved on from Hawkins, or as you called it, ‘the sink hole’. What are you doing out there now? I don’t care if it’s the most boring inane shit in the world. Tell me about it so I can distract myself from the smell of my tent-mates’ unwashed asses. 

Thank you for writing. I’m sorry to have worried you. 

-Hopper”

____________________

Before he could second guess himself, he addressed it and handed it to the first officer he saw. 

In truth, a part of the letter’s delay was his fault. Her letter had sat by his makeshift bedside table in the infirmary for over a week. There was a stubborn, immature desire to let her worry about him. He wanted her to feel bad for leaving him. He rubbed his temples, sighing. He knew that wasn’t fair. She had her reasons for leaving. He remembered the way her face fell, how horrified she looked when he told her.

“I’m signing up for the Army.”

She shook her head, bewildered, “Is this your idea of some bad joke?”

He tried to tread carefully, “Just for a few tours, it’ll help us get set up-“

“So this isn’t even a conversation? You’re just going to sign up?”

“I’ve got to get my act together. I’m stuck. I’m cycling from one job to the next-”

“Then, go pick up a trade! You have options! Is this something your fucking drill sergeant of a father convinced you on?”

“He’s got nothing to do with it!”

“He has everything to do with it! He’s been shoving his disapproval down your neck since you were 16!”

“I’m not signing up for him!”

“Then, why?!”

“I’ve been trying to tell you! If you would listen for a goddamn second!”

Hopper shuddered at the thought. How he had barked at her, how he had let his pigheaded temper get the better of him. He had known it would be a difficult conversation. Joyce’s father had been a veteran, but unlike Hopper’s dad, he had let the war rot him from the inside out. Her father was went from drowning himself in a bottle to abandoning them completely when she was 10. Joyce swore she would never marry an army man. She didn’t want to write the ‘Dear John’ letters. She didn’t want to be an army wife. 

Hopper knew all that, yet he had barrelled his way through the conversation and had lost her. It was the biggest regret of his life. 

Hopper waited each day and drove the officiers crazy with his constant inquiries of the state of the post. He spent weeks hoping. But after a month he knew there was no letter coming. He wondered if it had been what he said. Had he been too sentimental? He kicked himself for not taking more care, for not crafting the letter. He hated her for making him hurt all over again. But inside of him, he knew the real reason. If she wrote back, she ran the risk of getting attached to someone with a target on his back, someone who had put themselves in the line of fire. Writing back ran the risk of another man who would leave her, whether he wanted to or not.

It would be 2 years before he’d see her again.


End file.
